


Signify

by sventastic (svensationalist)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, M/M, Serial Killers, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svensationalist/pseuds/sventastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thinks that the serial killer's brutal murders are calculated yet purposeless, merely the deluded machinations of a remorseless megalomaniac.  However, Smoker sees a link between the uncanny murders and disturbing rumours of a new cult that have appeared in Grand Line City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bornlivedie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devlinnreiko](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=devlinnreiko).



> This story is inspired by and partly based on the studio album "Signify" by the progressive rock band Porcupine Tree. I drew the plot and general atmosphere from the music and the lyrics, as well as following the track listing for chapters and their titles.

 

 _We invite you, wherever you are, whether you're at home or whatever, to, um, kick your shoes off and put your feet up, lean back and, uh, get yourself a cup of coffee or something, and just relax and… join us, and enjoy some romantic and relaxed music for a couple of hours…_

 

Her eyes darted nervously to the television set and at the calm news anchor in the neatly ironed suit and matching tie.  He looked too surreal for her liking; his immaculate appearance simply did not match with the words he was saying, nor did he match the images shown in the background.  He was the epitome of professional composure.  She did not trust his empty face.

Mozart's unfinished requiem trickled into her ears.  A skittish hand stretched until it found its destination and the unwelcome music died with the radio.  Her white and bony fingers moved towards the phone and fumbled with familiar digits.

Two beeps.

 

 _Your call is being transferred…_

 

Her gaze returned to the news anchor.  His voice compelled her to watch.

 

 _—sponsible for the recent deaths of five young women.  Police are working to capture this serial killer and ask for the city's full cooperation.  If you have any information that may help in the investigation, call the toll free number displayed on your screen.  However, the police have requested that you call emergency services directly if you receive any threateni—_

 

She sobbed.

 

 _Heso, this is Pagaya Angelus.  Sorry, I cannot take your call right now.  Please leave a message after the tone with your name and phone number and I will contact you as soon as I am able to.  Thank you._

 

The phone signalled to her to begin.

"Daddy, i-it's Conis," she began, hoping that her voice was shaking less than it seemed to.  "I-I've been getting these w-weird calls lately a-and I'm s-starting to think I'm in t-trouble."  She paused to untangle her deadened tongue.  "Th-there are – r-rumours that – the s-serial k-killer gives his v-victims – phone c-calls  – b-before – h-he—" a choking gasp "—k-kills th-them, a-and I th-think I – I think I m-might be ne—"

A signal to stop interrupted her and the word never completely left her mouth.

 

 _—izens, especially women, should take precautionary measures and avoid being alo—_

 

She hated the calm news anchor, at how unfazed he seemed even though a wanted man was roaming freely, but he was her only company so she left the television on.

Breathing was now a chore, but she had always been good with handling those.  After regaining some resemblance of routine, she checked her voicemail for the sixth time that night.  It was the same unknown number as before, and she dreaded hearing That Voice.  She waited for the dull, automated voice to disappear and listened fearfully.

 

 _Live_.

 

She dropped the phone and cried because it was the same as all the other ones.

 

 _—reme weather alert is in effect for all of Grand Line City and surrounding areas.  The blizzard is expected to last for the next few days.  Practice safe driving while commuting to wo—_

 

The phone shrieked and glowed eerily.

She recognized the number.

"N-no, please leave me alone!  Leave me _alone_!"  She picked up the source of her fear and vehemently flung it away from her.

The answering machine spoke using a semblance of her usually cheery tone, her voice echoing mechanically in the room.

 

 _Heso, this is Conis Angelus!  Please leave me a message, I'll get back to you soon!_

 

An innocuous beep.

 

 _Die_.

 

That Voice echoed too.

She looked and screamed.

"Heso, Conis Angelus," the owner of That Voice said mockingly.

She tried to run but her skull suddenly felt like bursting and blood ran down her face.  She fell.

"You cannot escape my judgement," That Voice proclaimed, "'for the wages of sin is death'."

She wept and could no longer distinguish between blood and tears.  "D-dear God, please help me…" she wailed desperately.

"Goodbye, Conis Angelus."

Then she died.


	2. Signify

 

"Move," Smoker snarled.  The lower ranked detectives parted as if he was a bona fide Moses, but he sure as hell wasn't because any deity out there must have loathed him.  Smoker passed the web of yellow tape and headed towards the black widow woman who spun it.

"Ah Smoker, you're finally here."  A red painted mouth scowled in displeasure and carefully pencilled eyebrows drew together.  "Hina was waiting for you."

"Just shut up, damn woman," Smoker said curtly.  "Give me the details."

Hina laced thin, gloved fingers together, bringing to mind eight spindly legs and fangs.  "It's the serial killer again.  Victim is Conis Angelus, a student of Skypeia University who was living alone.  Cause of death is blunt force trauma.  The murder weapon has yet to be found, but Hina doubts it will show up."  She pointed to a recently moved mound of snow illuminated periodically from the camera flashes.  There was a pale leg protruding from behind it.  "Her body was discovered in there.  Autopsy team should be pleased – the snow kept the corpse reasonably fresh."

Smoker cast a cursory glance at the ownerless house.  "Any sign of forced entry?"

"No," Hina said, irritation clearly underlying the brusque speech.  "Whoever the killer is, he walked in through the front door and with a key."

"Copy?"

"Hina thinks so."

"What a fucking troublesome bastard we've ended up with," Smoker muttered darkly.  He spotted a familiar face through the window.  "I'll be going inside now.  Enjoy the weather."  He ignored the dirty look that was shot his way; receiving them daily made him effectively bulletproof, or at least so full of holes that being riddled with a few more didn't matter.

Smoker walked straight inside, taking care to dry his boots.  As if sensing the person who lived there no longer could, the house felt devoid of any life despite the number of detectives milling around.  They were just intruders after all, and would not make this house a home.  Grey eyes roamed over the neatly lined shoes, the orderly coat rack, the table with a vase of wilted flowers and photos of different people except for the one smiling blonde woman who was in all of them, and the trail of dark red stains going out the door.  He moved on and connected the dots.

"Tashigi!" Smoker barked.  He counted to pi.

On cue, the bespectacled officer stumbled out of a room and came to a halt in front of Smoker.  "Sir!" she greeted quickly.  "Would you like me to ask the other investigators inside to step out while you take a look at the scene?"

"Yes, that'd be useful," Smoker said.  ( _If Hina was a spider, Tashigi was the honey bee_ , he thought idly.)

Tashigi disappeared for a few moments and returned with an entourage of people that could only nod politely at their superior as they walked by – an exodus across the Red Stained Sea, the chosen people trudging past the Moses whom God detested.

Smoker went inside the house's Egypt where the Angel of Death passed through.

 

\--

 

 _"Who do you think you are, Bruce Wayne?  Gonna go Batman on us?"_

 _Yes_ , Smoker had wanted to answer.  And so what?  How else was he going to move on?  Forgive the one who ruined his life and took away two people that were irreplaceable?  Bullshit.

Even though Smoker had a certain aura about him, a natural 'insect' repellent that followed him from birth, he was still a boy with murdered parents.  What was wrong with wanting justice?  It was his only chance for mild reprieve, like slapping a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.  Ineffective, but better than nothing at all.

So Smoker grew up far too fast and with no intention of slowing down.  People die.  Life was short.  Therefore, move on.  Q.E.D.

A single goal in mind was all Smoker needed.  'Become someone who brings justice'.  He would be the one sticking on the Band-Aids.  He would not watch someone bleed to death from an incurable wound to the heart without trying to do _something_.  Nobody even tried the laughable first aid treatment on him, and he knew a feeble something was better than absolutely nothing.

 _Detective_ , his prepubescent self had decided.  _A detective will do_.

Thus, Smoker became a detective who was so damn good at his job that nobody could complain about the vigilante nature of it all.

 

\--

 

 _This is where Conis Angelus died_.

Smoker impassively noted the streaked handprints and macabre splatters painted across the floor.  The television was on, and the news anchor was advertising death.

 

 _—rdered in her home by the serial killer a few days ago.  Pedestrians found her body this mor—_

 

The victim had evidently been watching the news before her death.  No criminal would loiter to watch the television, fucking insane or not.  Judging from the blood trail, it looked like the serial killer had immediately placed the body outside.

An object lying innocuously on the ground caught Smoker's eye; it was a phone.  Knowing the detectives had already photographed the shit out of the room, he deftly put on his gloves and tampered with the crime scene.

"Well, who do we have here…?" Smoker muttered, counting the voicemail messages from the unlisted number.  There were seven in total.

 

 _Live._

 _Live._

 _Live._

 _Live._

 _Live._

 _Live._

 _Die._

 

 _Sick bastard_ , Smoker thought in disgust.

Checking the outgoing calls next, Smoker found the number of the one Conis Angelus last spoke to: her now childless father.  The detective put the phone back where he found it, idly thinking about Band-aids.

After finding nothing else immediately interesting, Smoker left the house.  He passed by the remnants of what used to be Conis Angelus… and moved on.

 

\--

 

Smoker looked up upon hearing the distinctive clicks of stiletto heels.  "Ah Hina, you're finally here," he imitated dryly.  "I was waiting for you."

"Then Hina and Smoker are now even," the female detective replied smoothly, sitting at the table next to her verbal sparring partner and across from their superior, Chief Monkey D. Garp.

The quorum of three was reached; they began the meeting.

"Whoever is doing this is a complete nutcase," Garp stated while perusing the photos and files spread across the table.  "What do you two have so far?"

Smoker frowned.  "Just from the phone calls, the serial killer is obviously male.  Cocky little shit, because he didn't alter his voice or erase the voicemails before we found them.  He's enjoying the attention because he's leaving behind such obvious messages for us."

"Hina also believes that the murderer is male."  She gestured at the photos with a manicured hand.  "Male serial killers tend to kill their victims in a more direct and violent manner, whereas females prefer not to figuratively get their hands dirty."

Garp grimaced at the close-up of Conis' head.  "Christ, the back of her head is caved in."

"Autopsy said that she didn't die immediately," Smoker growled, "and that the killer had to hit her a second time before she died.  That's why her skull is in fucking pieces."

"You would think that someone so calculated would have a more elegant method of murder," Hina said distastefully.

"No murder is elegant," Smoker snapped.

"Let's focus," Garp interrupted.  "The killer is male, by unanimous agreement.  Probably a young man, maybe in his early twenties to mid-thirties.  Many of these crimes had to be performed by someone with considerable physical strength.  Also, the murderer would have to have independence in order to continue these killings without arousing suspicion.  Chances are high that he lives alone and has an average job.  Basically, we have a normal member of society on our hands.  Any objections?"  After seeing his subordinates shake their heads, the police chief continued.  "Right, then let's look for a link between all of these cases."

Hina opened the seven files.  "First victim was found in her bathtub with her throat cut open and her wrists slit.  The murderer made sure that almost all her blood drained into and filled the tub by giving her blood thinners beforehand.  Second one died in a lab.  The murderer dissected her body like the frog she was working on before her death.  Third and fourth were shot and their bodies found in an abandoned building filled with insects.  The fifth one was found in a slaughterhouse.  The identity of the victim is still unknown because her body and those of a few cows were dismembered and tossed together, so it was a bloody mess to sort through.  The sixth was cooked alive somehow and is unidentified as well.  And now there's Conis Angelus whose skull was smashed in and her body found frozen in her front yard."

"As far as we know, did the victims know each other?" Garp asked.  He sighed when Smoker shook his head stonily.

"Smoker's and Hina's teams are still investigating, but we also cannot find any common features between the victims aside from the fact that they are young women," Hina added.

"The question is why the killer would go through such an elaborate method of killing all seven of them," Garp stated, eyebrows furrowed together in deep thought.

Smoker regarded his boss briefly.  "At first it seems like he's just putting on a show, but… I suspect that it may be something else."

"Perhaps experimentation?" Hina suggested wryly.

"No, it's like he's following something."  Smoker lined up the files in chronological order.  "Logically, there is no reason to have such complicated murders.  For every death so far, the serial killer takes the trouble to alter the body or the scene of the crime.  If he was killing just for pleasure, I doubt that he would go to such lengths.  Also, the number of phone messages he left corresponds to the order in which the victims are killed – the first had only one, the second two, and so on.  He's following some kind of sequence.  He must have some purpose."  He reached into his bag and pulled out an old, battered tome that once belonged to his mother.

Hina's eyes widened in comprehension.  "The ten plagues," she breathed.

Smoker grunted in agreement.  "The murders seemed familiar but I couldn't place it until the seventh one.  I'm certain that the serial killer is following the ten plagues from the Bible. I don't know why he'd do that, but the crimes match up almost perfectly."  He flipped to the dog-eared pages near the beginning.  "So far we've seen the plague of blood, frogs, gnats, flies, livestock, boils, and hail.  If I'm correct, we can anticipate another three homicides."

"And what if he succeeds in killing ten?" Garp questioned, staring at the book in Smoker's hands.

"I have no fucking clue," Smoker admitted, glaring at the small text.  "In any case, we should try and stop the serial killer from recreating the plague of locusts, the plague of darkness, and the death of the firstborn."

Hina stared thoughtfully at the line of files in front of her.  "Well, now that there is a vague motive, perhaps there is a systematic method to which the victims were chosen.  Hina will ask her team to do a more thorough background check on the deceased, as well as continuing to I.D. the unknown victims.  If there is a link, there is a possibility to stop the serial killer."

Garp nodded in approval.  "Then Hina, you will continue your investigation on the victims and try to figure out the next most likely targets.  Smoker, your team will try and find possible suspects.  I suggest using the Shichibukai – I know you dislike them," he interrupted after seeing Smoker begin to disagree, "but they'll be useful to you for this case.  Hawk Eye is free at the moment, and I think you hate him the least."  Garp barked out a short guffaw.

"Fine, I'll contact Hawk Eye," Smoker grumbled grudgingly through clenched teeth.

"As for Hina, try speaking to Pacifista," Garp suggested.  "And be careful when working – you're also a young woman."

Hina scoffed derisively.  "Don't worry, Hina can take care of herself _perfectly_ fine."

Smoker's mouth twitched at the corners.  _Black widow indeed_.

"I wish the best of luck to both of you," Garp declared.  "We have a rogue Moses to catch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smoker says "the crimes match up almost perfectly" because cooking someone alive has nothing to do with boils, aside from the pun. I opted for the wordplay version of events because it was difficult to think of a cleverly orchestrated death via furuncles.


End file.
